


Enigmatic Prose

by DatPieTho



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Please Help I Don't Know What to Tag, Some Canon Might Be Weird for Other Characters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-13
Updated: 2016-09-26
Packaged: 2018-08-11 01:58:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7871167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DatPieTho/pseuds/DatPieTho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the city of Dorado, Soldier: 76 finds a dead man he'd hoped he had buried for good, and another he had hoped would come back—but maybe not like this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dia de los Muertos

**Author's Note:**

> Heyo'! This is one of my first fanfics I've posted anywhere not Tumblr, I think. I'm a little confused on how Ao3's tagging system works but I'll figure it out! I've been tossing this idea around for a while now, and finally decided to go ahead and write (and post) it somewhere. Hope you enjoy it as much as I do!

Jack believes it began in Geneva. His room, sandwiched between Ana Amari's and Gabriel Reyes': small, dark, and lonely. A hand in his boxers, which were black and adorned with yellow, smiling faces. Jack's mind is not on the present, thinking to the time a week ago he and Reyes were alone in the showers, a moment in time in which there had been no argument, no negative publicity against Overwatch; Only Gabriel and Jack, the humid room and the warm water. Gabriel, a quiet mess between Jack and the wall, eyes closed against the running water and body quaking, moans soft and sweet and encouraging. Jack rolling his hips up into him, quiet only so he could better hear the man who had become unraveled by Jack's hand and only his.

            The door opens just as the heat and electricity is winding from Jack's abdomen to his spine, his skin like live wires and crackling with a force he begs to crash over him. Nevertheless, yet with great regret, his hands move swiftly, one to the covers bunched near his waist and the other under a pillow, reaching for the cool metal of the pistol he put there only a few hours earlier. But, he was too slow; 'Enhanced soldier program' Jack Morrison was too slow, which lead the country-boy to realize who the figure at the door was.

            "Color me flattered, Morrison," he laid over the blond man with a grin, rubbing against him with a soft sigh. "Unless it's not me, and then I may need to go on a manhunt." 

            Jack closed his eyes, face buried in the side of Gabriel's neck, quiet moans escaping him in short bursts; Amari could hear anything, and even this he would not put past her. Jack could only hope she was too deeply engrossed in her dreams to hear.

            "Well? Where's that excitement, Morrison? Or are you a man who prefers it once and never again?" A chuckle escaped Gabriel, deep and rumbling like the ocean. But it was too much like the ocean, too loud and too uneven, lacking the subtly good-hearted nature of Gabriel's laugh. Jack moved his face from Gabriel's neck, face contorting in horror at what he saw: Mangled flesh, a face blown apart. The hotel room fell away, Gabriel rolling from over his place over Jack to the endless expanse of black that had been once the dark-green carpet of his room. Jack smelled smoke. He was under rubble, burning metals and smoke-covered concrete, even crawling presenting an amount of effort he never knew before. Jack could see Gabriel, a mangled body haphazardly covered in material that looked far too heavy for Jack to move in his current state, but he'll be damned if he didn't try. But, he couldn't, and thus he was damned.

            Soldier:76 stood with a groan, his back aching from the waist to his neck. This is what he'd become, white hair that seemed to recede every day, a pressure in every joint when there was no adrenaline. He had been laying in a Dorado alley, tucked within a protective wall of crates and barrels; Soldier likely would have looked dead to anyone throwing the man a quick glance—after all, the man was coated in enough blood to make him look like either a blood-bag or mass murderer; Technically, neither would be wrong. Merely a short walk away was the ocean, the churning, unsettled waves audible to Soldier even from where he stood. He lifted the stolen Helix Rifle prototype, settling it across his back with a soft groan as his body initially tried to refuse the weight, tired and drained from the day prior. 

            Overwatch had been recalled; An illegal action, a dangerous action. He'd heard Talon had been the reason behind the recall, but he couldn't be sure. What Soldier was sure of, however, was his need to protect them. Even if the damn kids wanted to play the role of idiots in this iteration of Overwatch, they were his kids. Raised in the rise and fall of Overwatch, or even having played a role in it. So, he had done his day's work:  _Los Muertos_ , Talon, your stray vigilante who felt the need to destroy Overwatch before it could do any harm. Soldier would take care of them all; He had done his time under Overwatch's name, but that didn't mean he could do nothing for its name.

            The other end of the alley lay in darkness, false, uniform and entirely disturbing. As he squinted, raising his visor to his face, he swore the shadows there moved. A light flickered on in a small, painted glass window and the darkness disappeared instantaneously; A black cat hissed, scurrying out to the street but only after knocking an empty flower vase to the floor; First, a sharp clatter, and then, a piercing shatter. Soldier turned to the street, inching his way along the walls as he journeyed Dorado— _Día de los Muertos_ would be beginning soon. A day or two, he'd guessed as he glanced at the various posters and decorations. As they had slowly made their appearance, the decorations had unsettled him; Hollow eyes watching from every corner, every wall, simultaneously sacred and dangerous all at once. Soldier started, turning swiftly and reaching for the rifle on his back as an owl cooed in the distance, a sharp break in the silence he came realized had surrounded him; Not even the sound of the ocean kept him company.

            It was not unusual, nor did it make him lonely; Soldier had never felt loneliness, accompanied by friends and teammates he would never meet again. Not his teammates, but the other man's: The woman, voice sharp and even, chiding his aim; The man, his voice deep and honeyed, sometimes a comfort, and sometimes a battle; The man that boomed every word he said, politely corrected every mistake, uproariously celebrating every well-executed job or move. There were more, of course: The woman with the sweet voice, laced with venom every time he injured himself, or the one with the thickest, heartiest accent Soldier had ever heard.

            They were not there to comfort Soldier, they were there to comfort Jack Morrison, a man who had been buried by the former. Everything would become unnecessarily complicated if he returned, a weak shadow to a righteous past long-gone. Regardless, Soldier could still enjoy their presence, as selfish as that made him. 

            Soldier sees himself as neither a hero nor a villain, purely neutral and privately biased. He does what he does for those who mourn a man he holds trapped, half-dead and starved of contact. Heroes do die, he believes, and they die easily.

            Soldier suddenly straightens, alert with the feeling of being watched. Through his visor he peered around, attempting to discern real shapes within the nearby shadows from his eyes merely playing tricks. A weight suddenly hits him, dark and cold and heavy like a person who has just slammed into him with the force of a truck. He feels something wrap around his waist and his arms to restrain him and also guide him into a nearby alley, cold and strong. 

            "Jack," The voice is familiar, an echoing drawl, "You've gotten old since we last spoke."

            Soldier feels torn in two, between a man he wished he could forget and the man he wished he could be. It hurts his heart, the wildly beating organ threatening to free itself from his chest. 

            A cold metal claw gently traces a line to the back of his neck as the other man spoke again, "Are you speechless? You thought I was gone. You can thank Dr. Zeigler for that one." The last sentence was spoken with a particular venom reserved for those who continued to suffer because of the hand of another. 

            "Gabe, what happened to you?" To Soldier, his voice sounded strange, small and cracked with the threat of tears. 

            "Dr. Zeigler did what she felt was best." He spoke mockingly, head briefly tilted slightly to the side. 

            Soldier's visor was roughly thrown from his face, scar gently traced by the tip of a cold metal claw. It trailed from the scar, down to his lips, a trickle of blood dripping down his chin and to Gabriel's heavy boots. The claw dipped in, Jack's teeth obediently parting to allow the intruder in; It carved a line in his tongue, bitter and copper and all too familiar, flowing down to his cock.

            It continues like this for awhile, Gabriel tracing red lines into Jack's skin, coaxing forth a heat neither had felt in years. To Jack, Gabriel murmurs encouragement; To himself, Gabriel murmurs reprimands, which are well-trained and well-guided from his years of leading Blackwatch.

            As soon as it has started, it is over. There's a wet cold in the crotch of Jack's pants now and Gabriel is gone, the sudden lack of him an abrupt change for Jack, who has already begun to feel distant pangs of regret, leaning against the wall behind him, chest just faintly heaving.

            He is drawn from his painful reminisce by a faint beeping, pulling the offending phone from his pocket with a quiet grimace. Jack peers at the screen, reading the email as his blood turns cold, picking up his visor and Helix Rifle. 

 _"Talon Threatens Day of the Dead; Overwatch Recall A Threat?"_ The links are emailed to him by one  _a.zeigler@ovw.com_. Accompanying them is a file, identifying dangerous Talon affiliates. One had stood inches from his face only moments ago. 

* * *

 

On the floor besides him lay Widowmaker, asleep in the moonlight. He watches her breathe, slow and uncalculated in her sleep. The women he had once known was different than the one who currently lay next to him. When Amélie, she had been outgoing, however veiled that may have been; Now, she was cold as stone, an immovable object in an endless sea of them. 

            Reaper adjusted how he sat, pulling the hard white mask from his face. Red eyes stared back at him from the mirror across the room, glowing with a primal need for something he could not give. The skin of his cheeks was mostly gone, smoke billowing free to reveal sharp white teeth. Much of him was this way, falling to smoke that endlessly flew.

            Jack Morrison had always been his weakness, a crack in an otherwise perfect facade, and tonight had been no different. Reaper had been sent to kill Soldier: 76, a pest of Talon's since even before Overwatch's recall, but he could only go so far as to make the man cum without so much as a thought to fatally wounding him. 

            The one he blamed was not Jack Morrison, rather, one Doctor Angela Zeigler. She had pulled him from the dead and cursed him to the suffering he now endured, a cruel lab experiment she had never thought to first debate.

            Beside him, Widowmaker stirred, silent sleep now disturbed with pleas of " _Ma chérie_ ", and Gabriel could not help but feel a pang of annoyance coupled with jealousy. She rarely could remember, yet he could rarely forget.

            When he wakes her an hour later, the sun still has yet to rise. She dresses and packs her rifle, and he waits, patiently impatient, by the door of the storage warehouse Talon directed them both to. The organization has them both set on a mutual mission: Destroy a nearby generator and it's factory, and to make it look like it had happened at the hands of Overwatch. Reaper, a man whose corporeal state was of debate, was to detonate the charges, with Widowmaker being his eyes in the sky. Or ceiling, whatever it came to. After the museum, Talon did not often trust Reaper alone. 

            They get there without so much as the slightest hitch, Reaper silently making his way inside and to the generator room when he abruptly stopped by three Helix rockets exploding on contact with the wall near his head.

            "Morrison," he drawls, a twinge of annoyance to it; Reaper only hopes it disguises the faint affection.

            "Gabriel. What are you doing? What is Talon having you do?"

            Reaper realizes two things: One, the man before him does not want to believe the questionable morality of a being named Reaper. Two, a faint red dot has landed snugly on Soldier's forehead, sporting not so much as the slightest shake. Reaper throws himself forwards, and hears the sharp bang of her shot, and the cracking of bones.

 


	2. Growl and Snarl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soldier: 76 finds himself on a beach with Reaper whilst Angela Ziegler ponders some ghosts of her own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a reminder to those who read the first chapter soon after I'd posted it: I added to it not long after posting it.

Jack Morrison sits in his office, smiling distantly with his chin in a palm as he stares at the file on his desk, though that is not at all what he sees. Jack sees something different entirely: The night before. Gabriel Reyes had visited him in the comparatively very large office, at the time a dimly lit room whose main focus was a dark metal desk, whose surface lay cluttered with a variety of paperwork. Jack flipped through them absent-mindedly, face grim and mind traveling at a million miles an hour. He did not notice Gabriel’s presence until the man’s hand touched his shoulder from behind, and Jack had jolted, grabbing for the sudden hand as if to throw the shorter man over him, and onto his desk.

      Something similar happens, though not quite the same. Gabriel does end up on Jack’s desk, however his thighs are parted for the other man, files abandoned haphazardly on the floor. Gabriel’s pants and boxers are on the floor near Jack’s feet, and the blonde man’s head is bowed down in something akin to reverence of Gabriel’s cock, lips snugly closed around it.

      Jack’s world has become entirely Gabe: the smell and taste of him, and the noises he makes. This all only serves to drown out the door of Jack’s office opening, and Angela Ziegler’s quiet apology for bothering him so late. Gabriel barely registers her, however it's enough for him to push himself off of the desk and straight into Jack’s lap, face buried in the other man's shoulder.

      Angela stands open-mouthed, filling the doorway of Jack's office as she stares at the two while attempting to make sense of the scene before her. With a hurried string of apologies, she sets the files down before leaving, closing the door behind her. Jack and Gabriel hear her hurry down the hall, the sharp click of her shoes on hard ground.

      Despite the quiet, nervous laughter the inciden arouses in both men, they are more careful after that, doors double-checked, sometimes even triple-checked, mouths muffled against shoulders and hands. Angela says nothing to anyone about what she'd bore witness to, a fact both Jack and Gabriel are thankful of; She asks no questions as well, brief, awkward glances the only hint anything at all had ever been seen. Thankfully, nobody seems to notice the subtle hints from Ziegler. But she is not the only one to have learned of the relationship between Jack and Gabriel—Ana Amari, sharp-eyed and wickedly intelligent, steps into Jack’s office as he stares distantly at the files in front of him, clearing her throat all of three times before she receives his attention.

      Her long black hair is messy, tussled from a tiring day. Her eyes are somewhat dim from ten hours of work, but still dart around Jack’s office as she closes the door behind her. With her eyes now trained on the blonde man across the room, who is still somewhat distracted, Ana settles into one of the two chairs across from him, the chair’s padding worn and flattened. Ana disapproves of something, Jack notes with a worried jolt, her mouth set into a particularly stern frown: This is an expression Jack often sees when Fareeha expresses her urge to join Overwatch when she is old enough. Even then, when it's not directed at him, he feels like he has wronged Ana, earned her disapproval somehow. 

      “Jack,” Ana speaks suddenly, steely voice piercing the silence that had begun to unsettle the man seated across from her, “You’ve always been a tad reckless.”

Soldier: 76 hears the steady crash of waves nearby, and feels a sharp, stinging pain at the top of his left shoulder. When he opens his eyes, he is startled to find his visor off, staring up at Gabriel Reyes. The other man’s face is scarred heavily, paler than Soldier remembers. He supposes, then, that his face is similar: Paler, and more heavily scarred. 

      Soldier brings a hand to his shoulder, only for it to be swatted away, Gabriel rasping a forceful, “No.”

      Jack closes his eyes again as he speaks, voice tired and body worn, “What happened? You flung yourself at me, I hit my head on the floor—thanks for that, by the way—and now we’re having a nice romantic date on the beach.” He realizes with a pang of guilt that his voice is biting, both harsh and accusatory at once.

      “I saved your life, boy scout. You’re welcome for that, by the way,” The last three words are spoken with returned harshness, and Jack flinches with the pain of it.

      “I’m… sorry. Gabriel–“ He’s cut off as Gabriel pulls away from him sharply, then Jack hears a faint growl as Gabriel rasps out a, “Reckless boy. You nearly got us both killed.” Then, Gabriel adds, “You continue to charge into situations without bothering to assess them first, _idiota_.”

      Jack feels himself hardening, growing cold at the words, “Me? I’m the idiot? You’re the one that blew us all up, Gabe! You fucked us up!”

      Gabriel stands suddenly, the skin over his cheeks falling away to reveal sharp white teeth, smoke billowing from his face as he begins to come undone. The anger between them both is electric, building up to something irreversible.

      For a moment they are frozen like this, Jack looking up at Gabriel with cold eyes, Gabriel standing over him as he faintly growls. Gabriel’s look is vicious, a discriminatory predator to what it regards as weaker prey. Jack moves swiftly, the pain in his shoulder dull as he wraps his arms around Gabriel’s legs to throw him into the sand, laying over him on all fours. A sharp metal claw is forcing itself into the wound in Jack's shoulder, a simple graze of a bullet, the claw digging deep as the two of them snarl.

At Gibraltar, Angela Ziegler worriedly taps the sharp nails of one hand against the metal surface of her desk, staring at the “E-Mail Successfully Sent” flashing on one of her three computer screens. Her eyebrows are furrowed, frown ghosting the edges of her mouth. Athena’s emblem flashes on the screen next to the message, the program’s voice chiding Angela, though the woman does not register the words.

      There was always something to be thought, if there was not always something to be said, she had once been told. Angela could not find it anymore true than in moments like these: Lost deep in thought, and attempting to draw a conclusion. When Angela had found Jack and Gabriel together all those years ago, she had told no-one, nor had she chided the two men. Instead, Angela had dwelled on the consequences of their relationship, the strain of problems arising between the two of them would have on their work—only increased now due to their relationship.

      Angela feared for them: Jack and Gabriel were both of excessive importance to her, and her fear began to wear her down, a chisel to her smart angles. Ana had noticed quickly, forever endlessly perceptive. She had questioned Angela on it when her worry began to impact the quality of her work, Ana gently setting a hand on Angela's shoulder as the blonde woman cheerfully placed a colorful bandage over the smallest of cuts on Fareeha Amari's left palm.

      So, Angela had told Ana, Fareeha gently ushered from the room by her mother, for once, encouraged to explore Overwatch's halls. Ana Amari had quietly listened, trained eyes and ears picking up on the smallest of subleties. As she got up to leave, Angela spoke softly, almost timidly.

      "Please don't tell either of them I told you this." Angela looked to Ana, brows furrowed in concern.

      "I won't." Ana left with a wave, accompanying it with a gentle, reassuring smile.

     Angela held her head in her hands, elbows set on the metal top of her desk after she'd quietly turned off her computer, all three attached screens falling to darkness. With Athena's voice gone, Angela gave a soft sigh.  
She had been communicating with the vigilante Soldier: 76 for well over a year now, long ago having confirmed his old identity. It made her heart ache, longing for the days when Overwatch was a beacon of hope and aid. Legality also helped. The people she missed the most of all, from the laughter to the solemnity.

Gabriel vaguely realized the pain he was causing to Jack, the man laying over him wincing in pain every time he moved, moreso when he lowered himself and fiercely kissed Gabriel, lips and tongues suffering abusive bites. They did this for a while, 'eating face' like teenagers on a forbidden date.

      Jack lowered his hips, grinding himself against Gabriel with an unforgivable haste. Gabriel moaned, a needy and rasping noise. It almost reminds Gabriel of their relationship together, before they'd become mere ghosts of their former selves.

     He moans again as Jack's breath ghosts along his cock, and again as Jack's tongue works its way into Gabriel, warm and coaxing. He moans with Jack's cock in his mouth, as he sucks the tip, chokes down the length of him. 

      They both moan when Jack first pushes into him, filling Gabriel where he's now as cold as death itself. They both moan when they're finished, Gabriel with Jack's gloved hand wrapped around him and Jack with Gabriel once again choking him down in his entirety. 

      In the past or present, Jack and Gabriel have never been pretty together. There is often blood and tears and stinging pains. But afterwards, there had always been comfort: Soft compliments and quiet praise, bodies securely tucked together, barely moving in the night.

      There are no such luxuries here, just the pain and the blood of it. They're urgent and, when they are once again apart, spare each other a mere quick once-over. Gabriel and Jack both stand, now aware of the loneliness and pain they will leave each other to face. 

      Uncertainly and with great regret the two part ways, unaware of the woman who has only recently begun to watch them through her scope, the one eye steely and narrowed. Upon Reaper's slow disappearance, she instead looks to Soldier: 76, mouth forming a thin line as she next speaks, a quiet whisper among the wind.

      "Reckless."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking a while! I got sick, and then some real life stuff popped up. 
> 
> I'll have two chapters (3 and 4) coming this week to make it up to you all, though! 
> 
> Hope you all enjoyed this chapter!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Hope you liked it, and I'm incredibly thankful you even got this far. (And yes, it's a bit short but I'll make it up to you, I promise!)
> 
> I'm not sure how many chapters this will be, but I am aiming to post a chapter a week depending on how things go. I might do two one week, or catch-up if I miss a post on one week.
> 
> | Thank you Lolli, for your sweet help.


End file.
